


Drabbles and Prompts: Don't Starve edition

by Wombat (Superwombat6)



Series: Drabbles and Prompts [2]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot collection, Sickfic, dark themes, it is don't starve after all so like... yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:54:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superwombat6/pseuds/Wombat
Summary: An old collection of oneshots written using one of those writing prompt posts on tumblr. I've long since lost the link, but they're all fairly generic dialogue starters.In which Wilson is awkward with kids, Willow aggressively cares about her friends, and Webber is a cinnamon roll.





	1. Bleak weather, bleaker thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wendy's thinking about death again. Wilson, despite having no idea how to interact with kids, expresses his concern.

**"People care about you, too, you know."**

Wilson spoke gently, earnestly, as he stared at the young girl with concern. Wendy didn't respond, her knees drawn up to her chin and her arms wrapped around them. They were sitting beneath a makeshift lean-to, and the girl was staring intently out at the falling rain.

The scientist sighed sadly and tried again. "Please. We all worry for you. I know you and your, er, sister look out for all of us, but you never take care of yourself. I want to know that you're okay."

Wendy didn't look up. "I'm fine, thank you. Please leave me be."

Wilson frowned, taken aback. "But I don't think you are! You're spending far too much time by yourself, and you almost exclusively talk to Abigail. It took Wolfgang actively carrying you to get you to come in out of the rain."

"Hm. Indeed, the bleak weather speaks to my soul as little else does." The young girl's eyes turned thoughtful, and she held out a pale hand to catch the raindrops.

This child was too much. Wilson honestly didn't know how to feel about her, or her ghostly sister. "Er, indeed. But sitting out in the rain for too long is incredibly unhealthy. You could fall ill, and out here it would be difficult to recover."

"I welcome death's embrace," Wendy said matter-of-factly.

Well, that wasn't exactly news. Wendy had always been disturbingly morbid, her fascination with death making just about everyone uncomfortable from time to time. Except Wigfrid. Wilson wasn't too surprised by that, either. Still, he was losing his patience. Not only was he worried about her, but their little group really needed every pair of hands they could get. He'd be inclined to call Wendy's actions selfish if he wasn't so concerned.

"All right, I know you do, but we need you here," Wilson pleaded. Well, that wasn't exactly convincing. He tried again. "I know you, ah, welcome death, but the rest of us are... somewhat less comfortable with the idea. We don't want to give up, and you shouldn't either." He paused as Wendy brought Abigail's flower out and held it in front of her, just beyond the rain's reach. The scientist was struck by inspiration. "What about Abigail? Would she want you to die?"

That got a reaction. Wendy's hand froze in the middle of stroking the flower's petals. Her stare shifted from gazing blankly out at the rain to sadly examining her sister's flower. "Abigail... I... I would join her. We could be together."

Oh, dear. Wilson kept pushing. "I don't think that's true, at all. Something in this place enables her to be here with us, right? She _is_ with you. Even when her flower wilts and you can't see her, I think she's there." Oh, this was so horribly unscientific. Still, he refused to back down. "She's here to help you survive. I don't think she wants you to... join her, not in that way. Please, don't give up, Wendy. We all care for you."

The man fell silent after that, and so did Wendy. She stared at the flower, stroking it. Wilson noticed that her hand trembled ever-so-slightly, and his heart fell. He couldn't be sure whether it was because of the cold, or because of the emotions that the girl never allowed to the surface. Slowly, gently, he reached out and offered his hand to her. She contemplated it for a moment. What happened next was the last thing Wilson expected. The young girl ignored his hand and rushed straight into his arms instead. He froze in surprise, then wilted as he heard a very soft noise, formerly inaudible due to the distance. Wendy was very quietly sniffling, tears beaded in the corners of her closed eyes. Somewhat awkwardly, Wilson wrapped his arms around her. He wasn't exactly an expert in the whole social interaction thing, let alone comforting someone, but he had to try. Tiny arms wrapped around his waist, and he found himself gently stroking the girl's head with one hand. "It's okay. It's okay," he said softly. "We're all here for you. It's okay." The girl in his arms nodded slightly, and her tears began falling more freely. Oh no. Had he done something wrong? Why was she crying harder?

Before he could panic, he heard her voice sound, softly, quietly, and for once, _warmly_. "Thank you, Wilson."

The man blinked in surprise before settling back into the rhythm of stroking Wendy's hair.

He wasn't sure precisely when he fell asleep, but Willow later gigglingly assured him that the two of them looked absolutely adorable.


	2. Wilson got hurt again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson isn't convinced he deserves the care the others show him. Willow believes otherwise.

**"What, and it's alright for you to save us, but never the other way around? Why not?"**

Wilson curled into himself a little more. His ribs _hurt_ as he moved and he whined. Willow was still glaring down at him. He wished she'd go away.

"Well?" she demanded.

"...I'm not worth it," he mumbled, one hand moving to clutch a gash on the opposite shoulder.

Suddenly Willow's face was inches from his own. One hand supported her weight against the ground, the other grasped his injured shoulder, the one that wasn't half-buried in mud. "What the _hell_ did you just say?!"

Somehow, Wilson was sure she'd heard him just fine. He looked away from her. "I... I'm so useless compared to you and all the others. All I do is build weird stuff and get hurt-- _gah!_ " It was the wrong thing to say; Willow cut him off immediately by tightening her grip on his arm and shoving him onto his back. His injuries screamed, preventing him from speaking further beyond pained gasps and whimpers.

"Look at me, Wilson," said Willow, now leaning directly over him. "Look into my face. _You are_ not _useless_. Don't listen to WX, I know he's been on your back nonstop lately, and don't listen to your own deluded brain. I don't care what your mind tells you, we wouldn't have gotten as far as we have without you." Wilson opened his mouth to argue, but Willow's sharp glare made him immediately close it. "Who was it who figured out how to properly refine materials for building? Who came up with the heat stone that saved all our butts during the winter?"

Wilson again looked away, and Willow backed off a little. She unslung her backpack and started retrieving healing salve and bandages. "And yet you insist you're not worth it. Even if you _were_ useless, you're just as human as the rest of us, excluding the dumb robot, and anyone who's a survivor here is part of the family. You don't get to die, even if you wanna."

Wilson blinked. "I, uh... Th-thanks..." He shifted, trying to sit up, but his ribs howled their protest and he dropped back with a hiss. Willow raised an eyebrow at him, then got to work patching up his shoulder. "S-still. It was my fault for drawing those spiders' attention..."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's cuz you're a clumsy dope," she replied.

"Wha-- hey!"

"It's true. Isn't that why you're always getting hurt?"

"N-no! I, uh. Well, that is--"

"Yep. Anyway, that injury's as good as it's gonna get. Let's get your sorry butt back to camp, all right?"

Willow packed up her supplies and pulled Wilson's good arm up around her shoulder. He accepted her assistance and tried not to lean too heavily on her as they started walking. That didn't last long, as his legs trembled like jelly. "I, um..." he started awkwardly.

"Yes?"

"Uh, well. Thank you. For, ah, saving me."

Willow nudged him playfully with her free arm. "Well, duh. We're all in this together."


	3. Thoughts of a spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson's scientific curiosity overrides his social sense. Webber gives him the benefit of the doubt.

**"What happened to you? Why are you like this?"**

Webber blinked at the question, all eight eyes moving in sync. The weird-haired man was just curious, he was sure, but Webber knew how that guy was. Wilson liked science. He did weird stuff with things to find out what would happen. Even if the science man was just curious, it made Webber nervous. "We're friends with the spiders now," he said, carefully dodging the question. It wasn't untrue. But it also wasn't what Wilson was asking.

The scientist looked down awkwardly and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, yes, but why?"

"They understand us."

Wilson looked somewhat frazzled by this. Webber thought he looked funny, trying so hard to think of some polite way to ask 'why are you a spider?' but it wasn't really funny because he was there with the spider and they usually agreed but they didn't always. Webber missed having skin and hair and ears and two legs and two arms. Well, he did still have those, but only inside the spider. Webber realized the science man was looking at him funny, and the child cocked his head curiously in response.

"You weren't... always like this, were you?"

Webber thought for a moment. He didn't want the science man to do experiments on him or anything. Still, Wilson was pretty harmless. He was funny too, when he wanted to be. "Mmmm," Webber stalled. "No, we weren't always like this. I had a mummy and a daddy and a grandpa," he said quietly.

"I... see." Wilson looked troubled. Webber wondered if he'd said anything wrong. "Er, human parents?" The scientist immediately blushed. "N-not that I mean to imply-- that is, ah..."

"Yes, Mummy and Daddy are human," said Webber, sparing the fumbling adult further embarrassment. He still didn't feel comfortable volunteering information, though. He didn't like talking about before the spider joined him.

Wilson looked thoughtful. Webber wasn't sure if it worried him or not. He clasped his hands together and fidgeted, staring down at his feet, dangling off the log that served as a seat. They were black and furry,  with a hard carapace like the rest of him. He kicked at some dirt.

Wilson sighed next to him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I'm simply curious."

Webber blinked up at him. "It's okay, mister Wilson," he chirped. "Everyone asks questions about us."

"Right..." the scientist stared sadly down at nothing. "I suppose that's not much fun. You're just a child, after all."

The spider's thoughts turned bitter. "Not anymore," said Webber, his voice more serious.

Wilson's face twisted sadly, and the boy wasn't sure what his expression meant. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stuck my nose in your business." He looked away, rubbing awkwardly at one arm.

Webber hesitated, consulting with his headmate and trying to figure out what to do. They felt bad about upsetting Wilson, even if it was fair. "Mmmm... It... It's Maxwell's fault," he offered quietly.

The man stiffened at the name. "Maxwell." His voice dripped with venom. "That monster will stop at nothing."

"He promised he'd give me friends," Webber continued, staring at his feet. He suddenly found he couldn't stop the words. He'd held it in all this time, he'd been strong for his friends, but Wilson was right -- he was just a kid.

"Friends, huh," Wilson muttered. The sound of a spider's hiss echoed from the forest, and the scientist glanced nervously in its direction. "Except he didn't specify what species they'd be."

That hadn't occurred to the boy. He frowned. Technically, Maxwell had kept his word, twisted though it was. "Yeah. That meanie put me here and then a big spider showed up and..." He trailed off. He didn't like thinking about what came next.

The message apparently came across anyway. "No... Oh, Webber..." An arm reached out, and the child instinctively started to flinch away. Instead of grab him or push him or something, the arm wrapped around his shoulders and drew him close.

The spider-boy tensed for a moment, then sighed and relaxed into Wilson's arms. "It was really scary... We didn't know what was happening, and it hurt so much..." he mumbled, tears starting to form in his two biggest eyes. "We made friends with the spiders, but everything else hated us."

That was true. The others had found him bleeding out after being attacked and chased by pigmen. Despite reservations about his appearance, they'd quickly taken him in and helped him get back on his feet. These were good people. "Heheh. You know, we did find friends in the end."

There was a light chuckle from the man. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Maxwell's still a big jerk, though."

"Some things never change, kiddo. That's one of them."


	4. Sleep is for the weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson forgets to take care of himself. Wickerbottom and Wolfgang step in to ensure he doesn't drop dead from too much science.

**"You can't keep treating yourself like this."**

A voice spoke to him, seemingly from a distance. After a couple of seconds, Wilson felt his brain engage and decipher the sounds into words, then recognize the voice. He opened his eyes, then hissed in pain at the bright light that streamed through the trees. Light? That was weird, it wasn't light when he closed his eyes...

" _Wilson!_ "

He opened his eyes again. Huh, that was odd, he didn't remember closing them. He realized he was sitting on the ground, his back against something hard. He stirred, and his head swam. Where was he, again? Oh, there was someone next to him. There was a hand on his shoulder, and he slowly turned his head to look at the nearby face. It felt like his skull was made of lead. He heard himself say something, or try to, but it sounded like a slurred mumble. The figure next to him tutted, laying a hand on his forehead. His brain finally caught up to his eyes and informed him that this was Ms. Wickerbottom, one of the fellow survivors in their camp. Right, the camp. He could feel himself slowly stirring from his daze to remember where he was and why he was there. The alchemy engine, right! He was trying to finish developing his ingenious upgrade to the science machine. He must have fallen asleep while working on it last night. He couldn't afford that! He needed to finish working on it!

"Come, Wilson, we need to get you some proper sleep. You're lucky you haven't gotten yourself sick like this," Wickerbottom said sharply. As if she could see his response coming, she held up a finger and let out a quick "shh!" like she probably had many times in her library. Wilson mumbled something unintelligible and started to force himself up. If he got moving, he'd probably be able to gain the momentum to get back to work. He heard Wickerbottom saying something, but he was already on his feet and leaning on the skeleton of the alchemy engine for support. Now, where had he left off...

Wickerbottom was saying something behind him. "Ah, there you are, Wolfgang. Would you be a dear and help me get Mr. Higgsbury to his tent?"

What? No. No, that wasn't acceptable. Wilson gripped the machine with one hand and turned to face Wickerbottom and Wolfgang, the latter of whom had just showed up. The strongman offered Wilson a cheerful wave, which he returned halfheartedly. "I need to work on this, if you don't mind..." he said. The words felt awkward in his mouth, and he had to speak slowly to make them form. He could hear himself slurring.

Wolfgang shook his head, face creased with worry. "Small science man needs sleep! So much work is not good." Wickerbottom nodded her agreement.

"Oh, please--"

Wilson was cut off as Wolfgang approached and gently scooped him up like a kitten. "Friend must rest! Science thing can wait," declared the huge man as he started off toward Wilson's tent. The scientist was inclined to struggle, but Wolfgang's arms were warm and oddly soft above the rippling muscles, and he found his pesky eyes refusing to stay open again.

When he next opened his eyes, Wilson found himself lying on his soft fur bedroll, staring up at the roof of his tent. It was dark out. He'd missed a whole day! He started to sit up, but it felt like his entire body weighed several tons. He dropped back down and cringed as his head swirled with dizziness. He saw a light approaching his tent, and mumbled a greeting as the flap was pushed open to admit his visitor. It was Wickerbottom, carrying a lantern in one hand and an inviting bowl of stew in the other. Wilson stared blearily.

"You're awake, I see. I thought that if you've been so sorely neglecting your body in one respect, you likely wouldn't be better off in others," she said tersely.

He didn't object as she set the stew down next to him. She was right; he'd completely forgotten to eat for who-knows how long and he was absolutely ravenous. He tried again to sit up so he could eat, with similar results to before. He heard Wickerbottom tutting over his waves of dizziness, and then felt a pair of careful but strong hands helping him up into a sitting position. "Thanks," he mumbled as he reached for the stew.

“We will be discussing this later.” She carefully supervised his meal, taking the bowl once she was sure he’d finished the whole thing. “For now, you will get some more rest.”

“But--”

She was already gone. With no choice but to comply, Wilson sighed and flopped back down into the warm embrace of fur. He’d intended to sulk for a while about his situation, but his body had other plans. Before his first thoughts on the matter could fully form, he was again sound asleep.


	5. As if we needed more problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surviving on the island just got a little bit harder. As usual, Wilson is Maxwell's favorite target.

**“Are you shivering?”**

The voice had come from behind him, causing Wilson to jump slightly. "Huh? Oh, yeah... I'm just a touch chilled, is all," he explained hastily. It was a little odd, what with autumn being barely halfway over, but an early cold snap wasn't necessarily unprecedented. He turned to see who had spoken, and found Wendy staring up at him, a touch of concern in her eyes.

She considered his answer for a moment, and the scientist slowed to allow her to come up even with him. "Hmm. Winter has yet to touch its icy fingers to the landscape," she mused.

Was that so? Wilson looked around and suppressed another shiver. "Er, yes, well. I've always been sensitive to the temperature, right?"

What else would it be? There was definitely a distinct touch of cold sending periodic chills up Wilson's spine, but Wendy shook her head in response to his rationalization. The scientist frowned, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. "...I don't like this. How much did we manage to gather?" He shrugged off his backpack, opening it to peer at its contents. Wendy did the same.

"Enough for tonight, I think," she reported, returning her pack to its place. "Are you all right?"

"I hope so," he replied distractedly. He'd been perfectly comfortable when they'd set off from the main camp, assigned to collect simple edibles such as berries and carrots. It wasn't until a few minutes ago that he'd really started to feel uncomfortable. "Still, I think we should head back. I'm a little worried by this difference in our perception." He waited for her to nod assent before he turned back toward camp. He truly hoped his suspicions weren't right, but it was best to be cautious than to let it go. Was it possible to fall ill out in Maxwell's wilderness? He supposed he was about to find out.

Wilson was jarred out of his thoughts as he stumbled. He caught himself on a tree, glaring suspiciously at the ground he'd tripped over.

It was perfectly smooth. Oh, dear.

"Wilson?" Wendy had come up beside him again.

His legs felt weak. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes since they'd turned back, and Wilson could almost perfectly track his decline. "I... I think I may be coming down with something," he admitted shakily. He pushed himself away from the tree, carefully steadying himself. They were still a good ways out from the camp. He thought he should be able to make it, but by now it was obvious he'd somehow contracted some strain of influenza. Only the flu could come on so suddenly and so powerfully. He tried to offer Wendy a confident smile, but it came out somewhat strained. Still, she seemed largely calm. There was very little that could truly ruffle the odd girl. "All right, let's keep going."

They hadn't gone twenty feet when Wilson felt the world wrench sideways around him. He stumbled and collapsed against another tree, clinging weakly to it as he doubled over and emptied his stomach. He was trembling badly now, and he was certain his legs would no longer support him. Every slight movement he made was met with another massive wave of dizziness that kept him rooted to the spot.

A small set of arms wrapped around him. He felt Wendy help him sit down, a delightfully cool hand resting against his forehead. Distantly, Wilson heard her telling him to just hold on for a few minutes. Just wait here, she was going to go get help. He nodded weakly, watching her go. It hadn't taken long at all for the illness to progress. He groaned and closed his eyes, trying not to think about how helpless he was, what a perfect target he'd be for hounds or spiders or any other nasty creatures roaming the woods. It was good they'd turned back when they had.

He had no idea how much time passed before someone came. He wasn't even entirely sure who it was until he felt a pair of huge, strong arms -- Wolfgang, then -- hoisting him up and cradling him carefully. He heard voices, someone speaking to him, but when he tried to respond he just moaned pathetically. They started moving, and another rush of dizziness brought with it fitful unconsciousness.

For a long while, his awareness was entirely dominated by a hazy blur of delirium and suffocating fever, faces blurring dizzily together whenever he surfaced enough to see them. There were dreams, of a sort, or perhaps hallucinations brought on by a high fever. It was hard to sort one from the other.

And then, he found himself staring at the roof of his tent. He felt weak and gross, the fur roll beneath him clinging uncomfortably to his clammy skin. He couldn't really remember much between when he first fell ill and now. He stirred lightly, but with the movement came an overwhelming rush of dizziness. He felt his stomach twist, but desperately forced its contents to stay put; he felt nasty enough already. Thoroughly dissuaded from trying to move, Wilson tried weakly to call out for someone. His voice was little more than a whispery croak, his throat swollen and thick with mucus. He coughed, the contents of his stomach again threatening to emerge.

"Wilson! Hey--" The voice came from just outside his tent, and it was soon followed by a face peeking in through the flap. Gentle, blessedly cool air wafted in, easing Wilson's nausea and caressing his fevered skin. His coughing fit eased, and he peered up at his visitor through tearing eyes.

"Willow?" he croaked weakly. She was at his side in an instant, one hand resting on his forehead while the other gently gripped his hand. Unconsciously, he angled his head into her palm, seeking the relief of her cool touch.

"Ech, you're a mess," she declared. He had to agree. "So, have you rejoined us in the land of the living?" She tilted her head with a small, teasing smile. He could still see her concern, but appreciated her attempt at levity.

He opened his mouth to respond, but his voice refused to come. Willow reached across to somewhere he couldn't see and came back with a jug of water. She helped him sit up, and he eagerly sipped at the water. "Careful, you don't wanna make yourself sick," she warned.

"Too late," he rasped, offering a shaky smile. "How long's it been?"

"About a week," she replied grimly. "We've been worrying like crazy."

A week. Wilson shook his head in disbelief, then immediately regretted it as his head swam. Willow caught him before he could fall and eased him back down onto the fur roll. "Th-that long... I didn't even know we could get sick here."

Willow's mouth set into a grim line. "Yeah. We tried to keep it to just a small group taking care of you so fewer people are likely to catch the bug, but it's probably gonna spread anyway."

Wilson grimaced. "If only I'd thought to head back to camp sooner, I could have quarantined myself before you all needed to interfere..." he mumbled.

This earned him a dramatic eye roll from Willow. "Are you kidding? Wendy says you guys started heading back, like, as soon as you started feeling weird. Nothing else you coulda done." She shook her head. "You're always so eager to take the blame for things."

The scientist laughed weakly at that. "I'm a scientist. It's my job to analyze failures and think of solutions after the fact." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Hmph. Leave it to Maxwell to decide we're having it too easy. I always was his favorite to torment."

Suddenly, Willow stood up, prompting Wilson to whimper at the sudden lack of cool hand on his forehead. "Oh, relax, Wilson. You're such a child sometimes. I'll be back in a moment. I wanna let the others know you're awake and get you something to eat. Just sit tight, okay?"

Reluctantly, the sick man settled back, again relishing the breeze as the tent flap parted. The thought of food made his stomach turn, but a week of being bedridden and ill meant he definitely needed the nourishment. He just hoped he could keep it down.

His stomach changed its mind when the scent of soup started to waft into his tent. The hunger hit him all at once, and he looked eagerly toward the tent flap as the soup's bearer entered. He was a little surprised to see the elderly Wickerbottom step inside.

"Where's Willow?" he asked. It seemed silly to be so clingy, but she'd promised to come back.

"I sent her off to gather some things and tell everyone to stop worrying. I thought it may be a good idea for us to discuss this development," the librarian replied. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Like death," he grumbled. His stomach chose that moment to growl. "Hungry death."

Wickerbottom chuckled lightly at that. He accepted her help in sitting up and then eagerly attacked the contents of the bowl she offered.

"I'm not sure if Willow told you, but we did take steps to try to expose as few people to your illness as possible. Judging by Wendy's report and the symptoms you've displayed, I would diagnose this as a case of influenza. I don't doubt you drew this conclusion for yourself, of course." Wilson nodded at that, and Wickerbottom returned the gesture before continuing. "Unfortunately, if such a thing was to spread, it could seriously endanger our entire group. We should plan for this eventuality."

Wilson finished his soup and set the bowl aside. He sighed, relieved that his stomach appeared to be accepting the offering for now. He still felt feverish and dizzy, but he at least felt alive again. "Yes, I was thinking about that after Willow left. I wish I hadn't been the one to get sick, since now the virus has had the chance to incubate without my being able to contribute to planning..." he trailed off, losing himself in thought. "If only we had the equipment to create a vaccine. It may well be too late for some of you, but... hm. I wonder."

Wickerbottom was nodding. "A vaccine would be helpful. The biology of this world is far from conventional, it is quite likely we could fashion such a thing."

"That's true. We could probably use a bee stinger as a makeshift syringe, and spider venom may have a weakening effect on the virus..."

"Yes, yes, that's good thinking. It's hard to test, but it may be worth a try..."

Wilson opened his mouth to continue their relay of ideas but was stopped as his fever chose that moment to re-assert itself. "Uuugh..." he groaned and dropped back down on the fur roll. "Maybe I should focus on getting better first. I hate being useless."

"Nonsense. Just from our brief discussion, we have some idea," Wickerbottom assured him. "Now, then, you should rest. I'll work on that vaccine of ours, no need to fret."

Wilson nodded and closed his eyes. "Right. We won't let Maxwell take us this easily, hehe."

"I wouldn't tempt fate, dear. Rest well."


End file.
